


Humdinger

by gracefulally



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-24
Updated: 2006-07-24
Packaged: 2017-10-21 05:59:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/221709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracefulally/pseuds/gracefulally
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While on the way to Cleavland, Lindsey tries to entertain himself to escape his own personal demons and keep from being bored to tears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Humdinger

If at first you don’t succeed, move to Ohio.

I was perplexed by the Champ’s logic on that one. It was probably something to do with his forehead being too large and his brows being too unified. Well, that’s what I was going to attribute it to anyhow. Sight-seeing privileges and the uses for a caged cowboy were still elusive. The wait itself was damn near maddening. There had to be a point during the endless humming of _99 Wooden Stakes On The Wall_ at which the guard just put me out of my misery so I would shut the hell up.

For the move from Los Angeles my securely restrained behind had been plunked between No-Neck-One and No-Neck-Two, sporting mottled orange and soupy yellow skin respectively. Though she pleaded, bellyached, and finally made threats Eve hadn’t been allowed to ride along with me as a precaution to any ploys on her part. As if _that_ little darlin’ could put up much of a fight to a demon with at least two-hundred pounds on her.

Well, she could, but that was beside the point.

In actuality, I was grateful to be free of her for the trip. As much as I hated myself to think it and I would pray to whatever god to help me if I ever had to say it, the less I saw of the catty pint-sized bombshell the better. Once we had arrived I had told Eve not come visit me down here, for her own safety. We both knew what kind of beings typically ended up housed in a Wolfram and Hart prison block. Even then, it was doubtful that she believed me. This area was only dangerous when the doors started unlocking and that was not going to happen under the careful watch of Angel and his band of merry flunkies, not yet anyway.

The real reason I was pushing her away was because I couldn’t stand to look her in the eyes. A month of gruesome daily torture can seriously change a man and his convictions. The distance hurt me, hurt us, but I just couldn’t bring myself to tell her what had really happened in that hell dimension. That my heart had not only been physically ripped from my chest, but psychologically out my body as well.

The memories were difficult to shake. Through every pull of the knife, every crunch of bone, and even as I drew my last breaths, I was forced to think of Eve. Every happy moment turning to some sick and tragic end as she was maimed, pummeled, and ultimately killed. In each vivid scenario, the fault that led to her death was on me.

Powerless with desperation I endured the screams, the violent tremors of her body, and the feel of her death against my bare hands. The torture and my own demise repeated every day in the cellar while my fantasy family lived their own routine. I couldn't look at Eve now without all that coming back in waves and the dreams still woke me in a sweaty fit each night. Even my days were filled with flashes of the memories as I had little to ponder other than old stains on a solid gray ceiling.

Truth be told, my head was a fairly jacked place right now. Probably best that I was in a windowless cage with a guard watching my every move via the camera that was just out of my reach. I didn’t even know what the hell I was capable of these days.

That being said, I could at least do with some damn _silver_ silverware. This plastic bullshit was just not working for me. Yeah, I could turn that pocket knife into a sword and I was pretty damn proud of that one myself, but to think I could actually do that with _any_ utensil I wanted was moronic at best. Even if I could super-size a place setting, what was I going to do? Spoon someone to death?

Getting a little sunshine would also be welcomed. I was getting restless couped up in this box. Even maximum security prisons had some form of yard time. It was my best guess that someone was _again_ worried that I would escape, but come on. They knew for all my arrogance that I was no MacGyver. The cabin-fever was nearing the point that I felt like an old dog doing his dance at the door begging someone to just take me on a walk in the shackles. Pretty soon I was going to be as pasty as the big guy himself. He’d likely get a good smirk or two out of that.

For that, the fanged asshole got his own tribute song.

" _Even if a Champ, dust the vamp, seventy-eight wooden stakes on the wall…_ "

I'd give anything for a good hangin' rope and stool right about now.


End file.
